Broken Mirror
by Mess
Summary: At the assassination of Edea, something goes horribly, horribly... right. This is the rewrite/remake of one of my old dystopian fics, which can also be found on this site.
1. Moment of Weakness

**Moment of Weakness**

What I have is, I have a second in time. I have a split second in an abandoned building with a gun in my hand and every instinct is telling me who I am at that moment. That's what I've got left and that's all I've got left. 

-- Homicide: Life on the Streets

***

Quistis Trepe had plenty of experience of a teacher. Eighteen years, in fact.

Or maybe nineteen? She was almost nineteen by the half-formed reckoning of the Garden doctors and, make no mistake about it, Quistis Trepe had been a teacher since before the day she was born.

She often told people – usually older and highly respected professors – that it was her destiny to help shape the future. That tattered old cliché read so well, an orphan's call to nurture ever-so noble in the face of their vaunted principles. She did not tell them she was lying. Nobody expected her too. Everyone lies about things like that. 

It didn't look particularly impressive - or stable, for that matter - to write down on her resume just how very much Quistis Trepe needed to be needed. Where would kind of lifelong obsession/reaction to trauma go? Right under Has Good Communication Skills and Works Well In A Team?

Teachers are smarter than that. Or at least they should be. Especially when what they teach is terrorist warfare. Garden had an alarmingly high mortality rate.

Still, the fact that she was a professional teacher not at all overcompensating for her own lack of an older female role model was probably a good thing in this situation. Hyne knew she couldn't afford to act her own age in this company. Trudging through the Delling sewers with Selphie and Zell was more than a little like shepherding cats.

Cats, or maybe kindergartners.

"Ugh. Look at that, Selph!"

"Zelllll! That was, like, totally uncool! I so did not need to see that…or that next to it..."

"W-was that a hot-dog?"

"DUDE! No! Don't SAY that! I gotta eat those too, you know. Ugh. Thursday lunch is never gonna be the same after this..."

"Hell yeah. I think I'm going to be sick... lemme stop for a sec."

"Again - DUDE! No! Gross! Quistiiiiis... when are we going to get there?"

"Now," Quistis answered, using her Teacher Voice. She was really very proud of it. 

The sewers around her were oddly pristine considering their nature. Azure stone and ornate gates brought to mind something almost classically elegant. Had this not been a sewer at one point? She couldn't imagine justifying the expense of creating a sewer as pretty as this otherwise. Hyne knew they spent just hiring people to clean the Garden septic tanks...

Ugh. Septic tanks. This place was a gilded cesspool, and your nose forced you to remember it every once in a while. Quistis was trying to ignore it, but those two really weren't helping... honestly! Children! It would be best to ignore the pair, of course; Quistis found that many students did these sorts of things only to gain attention. It was quite similar to the process by which this sewage was getting to her.

Ignore the smell, ignore the chatter, and walk. She was the instructor here - a walking, talking, and (unfortunately) breathing behavioural example.

Shaking her head slightly, the former instructor motioned towards a burnished metal ladder.

"We need to go up there. I suppose that I'll go first," she calmly stated, trying to keep any concern about the mission of or a certain Mr.Leonhart from infecting her voice. For her charges' sake, of course. She had to be the voice of reason to get them through this. As always. In a way this was just some warped version of the now-monotonous Fire Cave test she had been more than happy to guide dozens of students just like them through to...

This was stupid. Quistis knew that there was no logical reason to not think of them as her friends. They were only a year younger than her. In the past week, however, 'they are your friends' seemed to have become her personal mantra.

"Time to get out of here? YEAH!" can a high-pitched reply from the rear. Not pausing to address the pair further, Quistis began her ascent in a barely restrained hurry. They were at least responsible enough not to let themselves be left behind in this hole.

The instructor had forgotten to chide herself for not thinking of them as her friends, but that was alright. These were extraordinary circumstances. She'd make an extra effort after the mission.

**

A posse is supposed to stick together. That was the very definition of a posse: a group of people who stuck together. Not a duo and not a mob but a group. One like them. So they were still a posse... weren't they?

"GONE," the pale woman said in what one who knew her well might have deciphered to be a lament. Fortunately for her reputation, no one really knew her all that well. Seifer had always been the most aloof of their private little clique, and Raijin was... well, Raijin was just Raijin. Meaning that he wouldn't notice depression if it bit him in the ass.

Raijin was much more obvious - lolling in Headmaster Martine's plush leather armchair and generally acting as morose as he was ever likely to. Her friend was probably trying to keep up appearances too, in his own way, but it was amazing how transparent he could be for a guy with such dark skin. He hadn't, after all, said a word in nearly three minutes. That might be some kind of record.

Yay.

The pair technically weren't supposed to be in Martine's office. Feh. Details. The pair also weren't technically supposed to be authorized to mete out corporal punishment to students violating Garden regulations without it going through some dumbass subcommittee where the little shit that decided he was special enough to break the student codes whined about his crappy childhood until they gave him a pat on the head and a visit to the councillor.

Rules were important, but technicalities were made to be broken. People like Cid got that. He knew they were efficient enough to ignore their activities, even if he himself didn't have the balls to admit it.

She liked Galbadia Garden, maybe. They got the technicalities thing. None of the Galbadian students had felt up to the task of challenging the Balamb Disciplinary Committee - not like that clown Dincht was his misguided views on 'right' with his blatant disrespect for their authority. Edea's patronage and the support of Galbadia Garden's own halfassed committee were enough of a threat to gain the odd duo access to pretty much any area that they wanted. Well, okay, those and a few lurid rumours involving the mysterious disappearance of some kid who used to run around in Balamb Garden. Brat made the mistake of bumping into Raijin and little boys shouldn't run in the hallways. Last she heard he was working the Fisherman's Horizon docks doing Hyne-knew-what (she didn't) pretty little orphans did when they got their asses busted out of Garden.

They'd spread the story months ago, since Seifer thought it would be useful. He was smart like that. Words, Fujin was forced to admit, were useful that way - even if they also made singular horrors like Raijin's verbal diarrhoea possible.

Oh well. She was used to it.

"C'mon Fujin… I know that it's weird not to be in Balamb and all, but hey, it could be pretty cool here y'know. At least we found Seifer n' he's alive and all…"

Augh! Seifer was GONE. It didn't matter where the fuck they were beyond that.

Whether he had purposely misunderstood her earlier comment or was simply as dense as reputation indicated was unclear. The albino supposed that it was a little bit of both. They both knew that this sure as hell had nothing to do with Balamb. Raijin was happy wherever Seifer was, and - handsome soldier notwithstanding - Fujin was in a secondary sort of love with her new home. The spartan grandeur of Galbadia Garden was so refreshing after Balamb's gaudy and useless furnishings. If Headmaster Cid thought that he was fooling anyone with babbling fountains and gold filigree he was very, very sadly mistaken. Balamb Garden was as much a fortress as this place, except her current residence did without Balamb's strange pretence of tranquility and goodwill. It took a hell of a lot more than that to fool Fujin Asher.

Maybe Headmaster Cid just needed to fool himself.

And a few government inspectors.

Bah.

"SEIFER," Fujin continued. They had a problem. Raijin needed to focus, here.

"Hey, hey!" Raijin smiled, once more dragging himself into the belief that life would end up sunny no matter how the cards were played. The guy might be a little on the thick side, but her friend was always good for that at least. It was nice to know he cared. "Seifer told us to stay here n' , y'know, infiltrate n' stuff. It's not like he left us again or anything… We're a posse, y'know! S'just his dream, is all. Aren't ya happy for him? And now we don't have to take anything from, y'know, Squall and them… 'Sides, we're almost done actin' like diplomatic type-people ta Martine anyway..."

"AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin answered, almost letting a sigh creep into the void during an uncharacteristic lapse of control. Plush carpeting cushioned the restless meanderings of steel-toed work boots. Raijin… Raijin just couldn't see that strange look in his eyes, the one that only Fujin would notice. Raijin couldn't see that that woman was slowly pulling him away from them. Raijin didn't GET it. Fujin knew that if he did then her partner would be much more of a wreck than she was at the moment... or at least appear to be.

"Fujin? Yo, Fuuj!" pressed the dark-skinned fighter, "Edea's on the telescreen. Ya know what that means…"

"AFFIRMATIVE," the albino repeated, now still and much more focused. She would be patient and follow orders. She was good at that, and there was something to be said for and insane parody of normality. A posse stuck together, and so would they, even if whatever foolish pipe-dream about Seifer had lodged itself in her soul would not be so easily denied. Certainly it would take more to exorcize than the badly kept secret of his midnight visits to Edea's bedchamber or his lengthening daytime absences.

Who was she kidding? He could sleep with half of SEED for all she cared. To exorcize this thing it'd take no less than the end of the frigging world. Which was so girly. Bah.

Goddamn witch. She was the biggest pretender of all, with her false love and fairytale mutterings. Her Seifer was too smart to be confused by those pretty words, wasn't he? Raijin had been swayed quite easily but... that was different. That was Raijin. Raijin was prone to that sort of thing. That was one of the reasons he needed Fujin around. But Seifer would recognize Edea's obvious manipulation eventually if Fujin had to...

No, dammit! She was absolutely not thinking like some jealous scheming floozy from one of her romance novels. The soldier knew better than to let herself think that she could rip him out of his romantic dream by attacking Edea... tempting as it was.

And so tonight she'd do his bidding. Not THEIRS, although the order had probably been issued by Edea, but HIS. Modus operandi. Because if there was one thing that she did know, it was that unrequited love royally sucked.

**

Seifer Almasy had waited for what seemed like an eternity for this day. The day when (a deliberately ambiguous) they would cheer for him - the day when he would take his place at the side of his Sorceress just like in the legends.

The day when he would enter the foreground, cut to the action, and stroll into the history reels. The day when he would become the Knight.

"This is your new reality!" his mistress melodically called, cloaked in otherworldly flame and neon light. But it wasn't a new reality for him; not by a long shot. This was an old reality. It was older than him and it was older than her - it was as old as Hyne herself. It was the honour and the strength and the glory of a golden age that had lurking in the back of his mind all his life, just waiting to be unlocked by her presence. And wasn't that what destiny was? A memory waiting for you to make it? Seifer had always been the White Cross Knight, protector of his Sorceress and master of the fates of thousands. It was just that nobody else had known it yet.

She was so beautiful. Sorceresses tended to be beautiful. Their power made them as lovely as it was, and their power was so lovely as to burn they eyes (or at least that what that they said of Hyne). They would be together forever, wouldn't they? She'd said as much, given him as much on what was perhaps the most perfect night of his life. No, make that second most perfect. Nothing could possibly match this debut. Their cheers and music and fireworks filled some silence in him that he hadn't known was there.

For the first time in his existence, Seifer Almasy felt... whole.

The Sorceress was on her throne, the Knight stood at attention, and all was right with the world.

Their world.

It had to be.

**

"This is your New Reality!" crackled an authoritarian voice over the newly restored Galbadian telescreen network. Certainly, the last thing most of it's viewers had expected to witness tonight was the immolation of their President. But with this kind of carnival you had to expect the unexpected to keep the viewers watching.

And watch they did.

A New Reality it was - different if not better. But there was no time to ponder that or wallow in self-pity. More sensible things had to be done upon hearing the signal Seifer had outlined.

Fujin quickly and quietly dispatched Headmaster Martine just as he darted into his office. His throat slit cleanly. The edges of this shruiken weren't serrated. He was a trained fighter, of course, but well past his prime years and not nearly skilled enough. As his broken body fell to expensive hand-woven rugs she didn't spare it second glance. Hmph. Frivolous carpeting muffled the unpleasant squelch, if not contributing anything else useful to the room. She supposed that it was dubious, however, that Martine had considered his own death by shruiken when he'd been interior decorating.

No matter. This was the sort of thing that she was supposed to feel bad about later, and then Fujin had always despised pretence - even that of tactful sorrow or regret. Martine had been drafted into the Galbadian Army at eighteen, and Martine had been good. Fujin had been shipped off to Balamb Garden at four, and Fujin was better. What more was there to debate? Morality? Trying to deny the fact that she would remorselessly obey Seifer to the point of cold-blooded assassination would be as pointless and stupid as cutting out her remaining eye. She was as proud of her reputation as she was proud of his.

Bah. Co-dependence was unbecoming in a soldier. And she never felt remorse, anyways.

As such, the telescreen was filled only with an eyepatch and sub-zero glare once Galbadia Garden's internal closed-circuit television system was activated by Raijin. The plan Fujin had conceived with Seifer days ago was mechanically perfect, as per usual. While the few truly loyal Galbadian SeeDs spread among the Garden's general population like a virus, her voice filled the sprawling confines of the mercenary base much more substantially. The students - or, as Seifer would once have said, the 'pansies' - didn't know what hit them.

"NEW REALITY."

"MARTINE," she lifted a heavy, stiffened object to the cameras. The kill had been clean; nary a speck of blood or gore marred his face, so they'd no it wasn't just some random hacked-up freshman they were trying to pass as the headmaster. The kill was always clean. There had been gifted classes, and for this? She had a gift.

"DEAD."

"EXPLAIN."

The woman's strange voice carried a variety of threat that the man who proceeded to drone on behind her would never even think to express. It was a little like an airborne plague, and a little like a raised whip, and a little like a battle-scarred wetworks agent staring down a building full of thugs and scared teenagers.

"Alright, people. This Garden is now under the control of those loyal to Her Majesty's Knight Seifer Almasy, y'know. I'm Captain Raijin Kasim of the Galbadian Imperial Army, and this is your new Commander Fujin Asher. Like she said, this is our new reality. Ya have no choice in this, y'know, so don't try to make one. Now we're going to try and make this change as smooth as possible, but those who don't play by the rules here will be, y'know…" Raijin's face was so innocent.. he really did make a great liar, though it was debatable if he really considered anything that Seifer told him to do morally wrong. Why? Who the hell knew why they followed him? Raijin, oddly enough, was a complicated man.

"PUNISHED," the new Commander's stark, arctic interjection rang through equally sparse halls. The gunshot of a command silenced any protest that more bold students could have mustered. Fujin clearly believed in disciplinary measures above and beyond suspension.

"Now I wanna be your friend here, so, y'know, listen up. We all know that Martine wasn't the most popular guy around here what with the way you guys got shafted – y'know, only Balamb students and those who transfer there got t'be in SeeD n' all. You guys work yer asses off and just end up Galbadian Army regulars. We could've reasoned with him. Sir Seifer stands for justice for ya, n' so do we. We tried to convince Martine to see justice, y'know. We really did. But he wanted to keep you all down, y'see, so as he could take the profits from the government contract that tied y'poor bastards down. Tha's when we decided t'take matters into our own hands, ya know? Who did he think he was, controllin' th'like of us, when he couldn't even touch a juinour here on th-battlefield?"

"REBEL. POWER, GALBADIA. POWER, OURS!"

Yes, it really was theirs for once. The soldier's expression almost imperceptibly softened, and she hoped that show of weakness would be enough to make them see when she couldn't ignite their passions like Seifer would have. There weren't any goddamn speeches here. Seifer would have handled this perfectly, but he wasn't here. And she was. So she had to. For him, she had to let them see her, and see her reaching out to all those rejected by the fickle favour of the powers that be. They were orphans trapped in the dead-end that was the Galbadian mercenary force - too unstable or unskilled or brilliant to be of any use in Balamb, and lacking any other real home. Abandoned for scrap.

And for a split second, surprisingly, those watching could see an inkling of themselves through the static. They couldn't have known that it was because their new commander had quite the close personal relationship with rejection herself.

Fujin Asher didn't need pretty words.

**

There is a certain state of mind that is indicative of the truly skilled sniper. It has been defined by those experienced as a pronounced singularity of thought; the ability to focus one's every synapse on a tiny speck of flesh.

The young man who was currently nestled inside the shadowed cranny of a rather gaudy clock tower was all too familiar with that technique. He had, after all, been trained in this particularly deadly art since the tender age of ten. Usually it was simple for him; find a satisfactory space and wait. Crouch low despite the biting insects or the pain of cramped muscles while descending into a world where all life is a target. It was a predominantly simulated target, to be sure, but a target nonetheless. In this the professors of Galbadia Garden could truly congratulate themselves: their pupil never tired, never missed, and absolutely never failed.

Unfortunately, this was not a simulation. And Irvine Kinneas was … distracted.

His teachers had warned him about this kind of thing. Don't wear that silly hat or the sweat upon your brow will blind you. There is no sound, sight, or smell - only white noise, a bullet, and that pivotal scrap of tissue. And above all, Irvine, don't think about the consequences of your actions. In fact, don't think at all! Numb your mind so that the job is all that matters.

Be our perfect killer, and we'll take care of you.

They needn't have worried for the most part. The oppressive humidity that was typical of Galbadia, the ominous chanting of clockwork dancers, and the harsh blue neon light were cleansed from his consciousness with practiced ease.

The would-be cowboy was, however, having a bit more trouble with his instructors' one final edict.

_Don't think about it.. just don't…_

Usually he could drown it out with the typical fantasies.

A shapely woman in a scrap that might once been a bikini in another life, rubbing his back on the inviting white sands of…

_~The beach. Matron and stark granite home behind them. Laughing, playing in the sun… running through the surf and then…_

_"Ooooowwww! Matroooooon!"_

_"There, there, Irvine. You're going to be fine"_

_…the most kindly smile in the world. ~_

Startled from this reverie by sudden motion, Irvine looked up to see brightly clad phantasms dancing above his head. It was beginning; the growl of long-motionless iron sounded a call to arms. Yet despite this call to duty the sniper remained motionless.

_Don't think. Just don't think about it. Focus…_

_~ "Happy Birthday, Irvine!"_

_"I..... I wish my Mom and Dad were here…Why don't they want me, Matron?"_

_Warmth; an embrace._

_"Shhhhhh. Your parents went away, but they loved you very, very much. Anyone would want you."_

_Tears, scalding his cheekbones. He was acting like such a baby. Boys don't cry._

_"Really?"_

_And, once more, that peerless smile._

_"Of course!" ~_

"Irvine Kinneas!"

This time it was the verbal which intruded upon Irvine's memories. The harsh command of his supposed commander could break through even the sniper's practiced trance.

"I… I can't," Irvine muttered, not even bothering to turn and glance at a target he did not wish to see, " …I'm sorry. I just can't do it. I always choke like this." A lie, the assassin knew, but probably more palatable to his stone-faced companion than the truth, "… I try to act all cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure…"

One single shot.

No. Women in those high-cut SeeD skirts. Quistis getting out of the shower. Selphie in a bubble-bath. Laughter. Damn, he looked fine today… Anything but…

Blot out the smile. Buh-bye, Matron.

_No. Focus. Don't think about it…_

"Forget it. Just shoot, " Squall said, echoing Irvine's thoughts. In the streets below, the warm glow of fire clashed with emotionless neon reflected on the pavement.

He was right, Irvine knew. This was too important for him crack now, no matter how much the supposed monster below resembled his surrogate mother. Funny, that the woman who had bandaged his skinned knees had turned out to be a Sorceress and neophyte dictator. Life was strange that way.

"My bullet…. the Sorceress… I'll go down in history. I'll change the history of Galbadia… of the world!" Irvine mused, until the musing made him feel sick.

She'd never smile again, would she?

"It's all too much."

"Enough! Just shoot!" hissed Squall, glow of unfeeling turquoise light reflected as if by magic. You'd think that a man like that would absorb such a thing.

"I can't, dammit!" Irvine snapped. The cold-hearted bastard didn't even seem to care. But he had been there just like the rest of them; how could he forget Matron!?! How could any of them forget?

He should be used to being alone by now: it was kind of part of the job description. 

Squall would have made a far better sharpshooter than Irvine.

_Matron…I can't… I can't…_

_I have to focus._

"Irvine, calm down, " Squall said in a more pacifying manner; truly a great achievement considering the source. " Everyone's waiting on you. I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, leave the rest to us."

"Just think of it as a signal, " Squall continued, " A sign for us to make our move."

"Just a signal," Irvine repeated.

_....they don't have to think about it.. not like me…_

_...never like me..._

_....just a signal…_

"Please."

_It's not me… I won't… I can't…_

_Just a signal.. They don't have to think about it…_

_leave it all to them... and I don't have to think about it..._

...don't think about it...

"Just a sign," whispered the sniper.

_FOCUS_

Turning, the gunman took aim without a second thought - firing in a release of sheer conditioned instinct.

***

It is truly amazing how the very fabric of reality can bend or sway or tear the world apart in just one second of time. Sometimes dream becomes reality and sometimes fantasy fades to black. Maybe there really was a place where Sorceress and Knight could have stayed together forever, or at least for the time it took Seifer to go mad within the illusion. Or maybe he could have stayed with her only to pull himself out of the dream a changed man. Maybe could have even taken the bullet for her. Maybe he'd have died a hero. 

Alas, this was the New Reality, and that was not to be. Death cloaked in steel cut through gladly yielding air and, with the sickening crack of bone, tore through Sorceress Edea's scantily-clad chest. Edea - or, more accurately, her puppeteer was used to doing what was needed, and had nigh-infallible instincts even when she didn't know what was coming. Which she did. Because she knew this Time. 

But she had not known not to blink.

"Mistress!" her Knight shouted, panic and rage clouding an otherwise ravaging intellect. This wasn't supposed to happening, everything was supposed to be perfect…..

Forever. She was supposed to stay with him forever.

This wasn't in the film reels or the poems or the history books. Not his history book, dammit. What the hell was going on here? 

"S-Seifer…."

Fury and despair waged war in his gut while he knelt by his Lady's ruined carcass. The blood was seeping ever so slowly from a gaping wound just above her heart, and her elaborately feathered throne was shot to splinters. For this, there would be Hell to pay. Or maybe just Hell. 

"Mistress, you'll live! I'll protect you!" he convinced himself, distraught. Seifer had charisma - he convinced people of things on a regular basis. A Knight was supposed to be able to protect his Sorceress at any cost. Surely he hadn't failed? Not after it had taken so long to find her... 

"N-no…boy…," she croaked.

Clutching her to his body, the Knight's snow-white coat absorbed her heart's blood - a metallic tang polluting the crisp night air. And maybe in the warmth of his body the Knight could somehow reclaim the shattered carcass of a lover far beyond the help of magic. Maybe he could work miracles. Knights were supposed to be able to make miracles happen. Even if their Sorceress' looked frail and sickly outside of pompous circumstances. Even if they could not make out what remnant of power and beauty had to be within one bony form. And even if the clawlike hands running across their cheeks were for once faintly grotesque instead of exotic.

"Y-you're not my Ci…," rasped the Sorceress, some subtle air of cruelty suddenly missing from her crippled bearing.

"Mistress?," Seifer cradled his Sorceress' head, not understanding her meaning. 

He wasn't used to people dying. All of his ghosts were already dead. Was he doing this right? This wasn't how the story ended. It must be his fault. Or hers. But his. What didn't he understand, that he wasn't doing this right? 

"And another…I must find…another… There has to be another. And she'll... You have to stop her from..."

"Don't say that, Mistress. You'll live. You have to.…," Seifer Almasy did not cry, and Seifer Almasy did not fail. Not now. Not ever. 

"You have to stop it. I thought... but it will live beyond me, beyond time. My dear boy, you have to fix it..." 

Not ever.

So he had to fix it. 

Someone else had done this. 

Only one other person could have done this. 

Seifer Almasy never failed. Except.

Only one person could have done his. The villain of our piece. He should have seen it. Things had gone too well. There had to be a villain in any piece. That was how these things worked. 

His poor Sorceress. For her, this would be a Tragedy, then. 

Reformat, remix, and the puzzle came back together. His grip on her frame tightened.

"Vengeance. Vengeance, milady, I promise. I'll make this world - these dogs - worthy of your memory. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

"Ahhh… there… There. She's there. My girl... all my children... they came for me. I'm so sorry. For all of you. For everything. I'm so sorry. Tell them that. " Edea whispered, once straining body relaxed and almost limp in Seifer's arms. If she heard him now she certainly did not show it.

No, no. Not her. But someone would be sorry. 

"Goodbye…."

The true Sorceress Edea died with a gentle if long unused smile. The living dream died with her. Seifer Almasy, however, would survive.

One way or another. 

This wasn't how the story ended. Not by far. 

**

The mood inside Delling Gate was of a much more celebratory nature.

"Whoooooo-hoooo! Booooooooyaka!!!!!! We did it!!!" Selphie squealed, hopping about like some sort of deranged rabbit. Honestly, Quistis would never understand how her students - err... friends, that is - could take everything so lightly. The instructor was plagued with worry for Squall and the sniper. She was also concerned that they get out of this mess alive.

"Whoa. There's some kind of riot outside, " Zell babbled, obviously rather pumped up himself. "The army's trying to put 'em down… wonder what's up with them? They should be cheering or something," the puzzled youth continued.

Forehead in hand, Quistis slowly exhaled. The pained screeching outside their little eye in the storm had made it obvious enough to her.

"They were probably enchanted, Zell. It must be confusing for them to be broken out of it." Meeting his eyes, the former teacher continued, "Meaning that we have to get out of here before either the military or that mob decides that this gate would be a good place to shore up."

"You're the boss!" their tiny comrade chirped, "Let's go!"

Zell was meanwhile making punching motions at the air, oblivious to the drama playing out below.

It must be fun to be that impractical. Fun, and painful.

"Damn! I wanted some action! Oh well…" he wilted.

Good. They really did need to make their escape.

"Squall will make for the Caraway Manor. It's fenced in, and the General will probably have at least a few loyal soldiers there," Quistis detailed, drawing out her whip. "That means that..."

"Back to the sewers? Eeeeeeewwwww! Majorly gross!"

"We don't have a choice, Selphie. Now...."

**~FITHOS~**

Before she could further advance her point, even though it was probably futile to explain anything to this lot, Quistis' train of thought was interrupted by the tendrils of a whisper that crept into her mind. This didn't make any sense. The dancers were out of commission by now and…

"What the…"

**~LUSEC~**

The cacophony grew louder, a dozen voices in dissonant resonance. Definitely not the dancers. They hadn't been half-bad, or half so... eerie. 

Who in the world would be singing at a time like this?

"Instructor Trepe? You okay?" Zell asked, slipping into a more customary form of address as he scrambled across the rough sandstone floor. Strangely light-headed, his teacher fell to her knees.

No.

Can't black out. Not here and not now... 

They had to get out of here. Squall… Squall might need her! He'd never needed her before…

**~WECOS~**

The words were nonsense babble. Yet. 

Too perfect and too wrong, they covered something worse. Those all-important words suspended over the Abyss. It was so dark... 

_...I have to... I have to be there..._

**~VINOSEC~**

Their voices seared themselves into her skull, drowning out any remnants of rational thought. They also camouflaged the concerned panic of the blurs which were Zell and Selphie standing over her.

_…have to... have to… think…_

_…think…_

**~FITHOS~**

_…where…?_

**~LUSEC~**

_…who…?_

_…somebody… needed…_

**~WECOS~**

_...who.. what... am....I....._

_....I...?_

**~VINOSEC~**

Somewhere between pain and exhilaration an ancient melody swum into the woman's stream of consciousness, knitting together a soul rent by raw power. Pulsing, crackling, and relentless as it reached a crescendo, the primal beat could become the only focus for her fragmented synapses...

And the beat was the world. And the beat was in everything. She could FEEL it all make sense.

**~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC~**

_.....fithos....lusec.......wecos......vinosec?_

It meant nothing and everything. The sense it made was strange and terrible. All that mattered in all the world, fithos lusec wecos vinosec.

And the sonic assault screamed victory as she joined it. 

**_fithoslusecwecovinosec?_**

**~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~**

**~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~**

And with an unseen surge of energy, fade to black.

  



	2. The Wrecker

**The Wrecker**

  
The author would like to acknowledge the makers of comic book villains and superheroes, those who invented, or at least popularized, the notion of a normal, mild-mannered person tranformed into mutant by freak accident, with the mutant thereafter driven by a strange hybrid of the most rancid bitterness and the most outrageous hope to do very, very odd and silly things, many times in the name of Good. 

-- _A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius_, Dave Eggers

***  


Fujin should have seen it coming. Miles, yards, years away - she should have noticed. There were no excuses. Even if one of her eyes happened to be ... gone, she refused to be a liability. 

On a mission, you've got to expect to be caught off guard. And yeah, she guessed that was a contradiction, but contradictions were a hazzard of her business. No matter what trump card you've got up your sleeve, some other joker's probably got half a stacked-deck up his boot. Reserve troops, secret passages, hidden caches of aura, the new and improved tech-of-the-minute…. whatever. You don't deal yourself into the mercenary game without knowing shit was bound to happen. The telescreen cameras cutting out on the Witch's procession was the most minor problem imaginable that could come up during Edea's prettied-up coup.   
  
Anticipating flawlessness was unrealistic. There was really nothing to be worried about.   
  
Right. Hyne, SeeD missions were worse that standing in a parade, and they'd sat on tons of those. Granted, Seifer hadn't often been alone then, but he was competent. He was the best there was.   
  
(By now Seifer might be on fire. Of course, being Seifer, he wasn't on fire. He stocked enough Firas to prevent that, and he didn't usually need protection anyways. She knew that.) 

Technically Fujin Asher was no longer a mercenary. Nope. Not her. She had truth, justice, and the Galbadian Way now, except for the part where she wasn't Galbadian. Hell, if you wanted to get really technical you could probably say she'd never been a mercenary at all. It'd just always been what she'd expected to do after spending her few years as hall monitor in a school where the students regularly brutally maimed very large and wicked beasts as a daily workout. What else was there to do? That was all any of them were trained for, really. Merc or prof or SeeD corps. It was competitive too - there were too damn many of them. What did the world need so many highly trained combat experts for, anyways?   
  
Hadn't all the combat ended years ago? 

(Dammit, of course it had. There was no one alive who could take on Seifer and win without a small army, and nobody had that kind of firepower now except for the Gardens, the Galbadians, and Esthar. Galbadia was his Witch's now, the Gardens were neutralized or too far away to intercede, and Esthar didn't give a shit. Nobody would attack Seifer who could win, except for maybe Squall, since he seemed to be predisposed to that kind of thing. Was that it? That was it. Why would the cable be pulled out? Squall. Bloody Squall. Fuck. Now Squall'd probably ruined everything, since EVERY FUCKING THING came back to Squall, and right now he and Seifer were probably having kind of climactic carnage-laden duel between nemeses and Fujin wouldn't be there to patch Seifer up after they inevitably beat the crap out of each other and both of them would probably die of blood loss. Fuck. FUCK. If she'd thought it would make Seifer any less bitter and obsessive about their rivalry she'd have tried to introduce Squall to the sharp edge of a buzzsaw long ago. Maybe then they could all move on with their lives. This rivalry thing was irrational.  
  
Right now, she was being irrational.)   
  
Her original train of thought had led to mercenary work since at least that field could be thinned out in dubiously legal ways without anyone important caring. There'd been a time - long long ago, and fuzzy and absurdly far away - when she'd let one of her best and only two friends talk her into joining the school Disciplinary Committee so as she could learn how to kick the asses of her competition before they even graduated. Raijin too. After that they were going to go freelance, but then. Then she sees her friend turn into this guy. This guy that makes her think about stuff, like dispossession and justice and personal freedoms and using the power of their generation to make a world that'd never create a brood so screwed up as they were ever again. And he just had to be all charming and her friend and make so much goddamn sense some of the time (expect for those times when he'd made no sense at all, but all that planning and thinking and talking made him look so very alive that it didn't matter. Alive being what he was, right now, as opposed to dead in some ditch while Edea shacked up with some prettyboy as his corpse cooled.)  
  
Ah, how a mighty career in wetworks had fallen when Fujin Asher just had to go and take up with a visionary. There was no question now, though, that she'd stick by him.  
  
(He'd be all upset if his plan didn't go right. Seifer was nothing if not a perfectionist. Fujin wished there was something she could kill for him to help out with that - she wasn't very good at this emotional crap. Hmph. Maybe she would end up gutting Squall after all. A thought.)  
  
Still, she liked to flatter herself and think that she could have been one of the best. Seifer'd never have done, though - Garden was right about that. If this Commander thing she was doing right now was ill-fitting on her, having Seifer auction off his services would be like sticking the man in a tutu. So they'd been afraid of letting him in SeeD, letting him be a leader. Heh. As if he could ever not be a leader. As a merc he'd have ended up leading some romantic rebel band conducting guerilla strikes for justice from the wilderness because he'd disagreed with an employer and had ended up making a scene. It would only have been a matter of time.  
  
Seifer was special, and Seifer had a plan. That was why she was here. Seifer only made plans when they were capital-I Important.   
  
(And capital-R Reckless. Or capital-D Dangerous. Augh!)   
  
Still, it was more than a little strange being here and dwelling on the state her existence, or whatever you wanted to call it. Fujin was trained for action, and this? Wasn't. She was a Commander now, not a mercenary, and Commanders had to expect obstacles entirely different from hidden laser security systems. This kind of ignorance was a new and unwelcome burden, like an itch she couldn't scratch. And all she could do about the situation (both situations) was dwell on it. Even that authority wouldn't allow her to will her annoyance into corporeal form so that she could punch it in the face.   
  
Of all the goddamn things that could have gone wrong with Seifer's Important Plan, the albino would have never thought that it would be boredom and technical glitches.   
  
(Seifer had better not be bored right now too. Just occupied and too busy for his friends in a non life-threatening way.)   
  
For some reason things had actually gone pretty smoothly. The students were docile if untrusting while under lockdown. Smart kids. It was to be expected if they'd made it this far. The first thing that an orphan learns is what to do when they pawn you off; lie low and hope to whatever hell you believe in that your new guardian doesn't crawl into bed with you that night. It hadn't happened to her, but there were stories… bound to be, with so many homeless kids around after the Estharian War. Too many. Enough to be expendable. Enough to scare every kid in a twenty-mile radius when you saw the look in their eyes.   
  
Between the armed guards and the threats, these kids knew the score. Oh, the Headmasters claimed that these were schools like any other, but Fujin knew better. What the hell kind of parents would pack their kid off to become some teenage commando? The albino had to give a hand to Headmaster Cid for that… at first glance one wouldn't expect the man to have the audacity to take advantage of such an unethically cheap source of military strength.   
  
(She was an idiot. Seifer was strong - certainly stronger than she was. He was a big boy.)   
  
Then again, at first glance one wouldn't think that Headmaster Cid would have the balls to choose Balamb's paint color.   
  
Fujin found herself currently staring at her refection in the overly-polished walls of the Garden's largest auditorium, and thinking foolish, overly-analytical thoughts at that. The room's color had faded to the cold impartiality of gunmetal now that she'd sent the loyalists out with orders to keep things quiet. Normally she would have liked that sort of thing; been relieved at a break from the white noise of Raijin's prattle. Now, however, was not very normal, and it was too damn quiet in here.   
  
Fujin was pacing again, for her body needed something to do even if her mind was forced to remain idle.   
  
(.... Seifer is FINE, moron. Stop being such a bloody girl.)   
  
And so it did. She certainly didn't want to give in to some nonexistent weakness, make a mad dash to Martine's office, get an outside telescreen feed, and obsessively check for his presence among the inevitably joyful revelers at the Sorceress' coronation. A gnawing worry was not getting a strangle-hold on her heart. Seifer was a great fighter, he could take care of himself…. even if she didn't know what the hell he thought he was doing being an hour late. She wasn't worried. Nope. She was worried about being a Commander since she hadn't been one before, that was all.   
  
That was all.   
  
(He'd be fine, and that was all there was to it.)   
  
Of course, one more hour and Fujin would drag his scrawny ass out of there if she had to fly the bloody Garden to Delling herself. There was not telling what that Witch would do to her friend.   
  
Pace. Pace.   
  
Pace.   
  
....   
  
(...)   
  
Goddamit... where the hell was Raijin!?! Fujin needed something to kick. NOW.   
  


***

"Lotsa ya should have been transferred to Balamb, ya know."   
  
"What?"   
  
"I said that lotsa ya should have been transferred to Balamb. For tha SeeD test. 'Cause, like, ya look like ya could have made it, ya know?" the bronze giant smiled, looking up from the kid in the front row to scan the small group of children that'd been gathered in the lecture hall to hear him.   
  
"Yeah. Yeah I could so! Ummm.. mister..."   
  
"Raijin. My name is Captain Raijin. Hi everyone!"   
  
"Oh. Hi. I'm Ray," the brave little kid stared up at him, flanked by others of a less courageous temperament who were seated in the row behind him. The room tittered with laughter at his audacity.   
  
"Do you have any other questions, Ray? Any of you? I know this' gotta be confusin', ya know, but ya don't have to be scared to speak up."  
  
Seifer'd told him to look after the little kids, and he was right. Raijin might not be a very smart man, but he knew enough to get the little guys to leave Fujin well enough alone. Fuuj didn't like kids, and kids... didn't like Fuuj. To put it mildly.   
  
"Mr.Raijin... what's going to happen to us?"   
  
"Well," he scratched the back of his neck, recalling when he'd been just as little and not-knowing was the worst thing in the whole world. Not-knowing where he'd go, or if they'd let Fujin come with him, or if his parents were alive out there and looking for him but they couldn't find him and it was his fault. Stuff like that. It was hard being a kid. "You'll all stay here - no worries there, ya know. Yer classes'll start up again once we've checked out yer teachers 'n stuff, even if the older kids start workin' for the Galbadian Army as special forces. See, I have this friend..."   
  
"The scary lady?"   
  
"Awww.. she's not so scary. She just acts tough, " he winked conspiratorially. "But no. Not her. I have another friend who's a Knight, ya know."   
  
"A real live Knight!? Ch'yeah, right..."   
  
"Cross m'heart and hope to die. A real live Knight just like on th' story reels. He's gotta gunblade an' everything."   
  
"How come the Knight isn't here? Not that I'm scared, or nothin', " Ray cast a concerned glance at a pretty little girl in pigtails, and sat a little taller. Aaaaw.   
  
"Well, it's sorta a long story, but that's okay. Me an' him an' Commander Fujin are a posse, see..."   
  
"What's a posse, Mr.Raijin?   
  
"It's kinda like bein' best friends, but best friends in the whole world. When you're in a posse, ya do what's best for the posse. Like, telling each other the truth, and bein' loyal an' stuff..." the mass of children looked kind of reassured, which was a start, he guessed. Wasn't as if he'd really practiced this or anything. All in all there were about three hundred primary school kids in Galbadia Garden, and the thirty of them he'd gathered seemed fixated on his every word as he stood on the stage in Sub-Auditorium C. Seifer had said that talking to them in small groups it would be the best way to avoid panic. He'd also called them stupid brats. Seifer was funny like that sometimes.   
  
"Would you guys like t'be in a posse too? If ya want, you could have your own posses, ya know. I wouldn't mind. Or maybe your posse could be th' whole Garden. 'Cause bein' in a posse, that's about caring about somethin' and protectin' it, and I know that ya all care about your home and your friends, right? Does that sound good?"   
  
The majority of the youngsters nodded. Cautiously, true, but...   
  
"Posses do things that are, like, noble an' knightly an' stuff too sometimes, " Raijin parroted his missing buddy. Seifer'd told him kinda what to say, and kinda hadn't. Seifer didn't quite know how to say things right for this. Not that Raijin'd ever say so. "Now, the guys that were here before.. they didn't have a posse."   
  
"Where did Headmaster go, Mr. Captain Raijin, sir?"   
  
"He want away, ya know? 'Cause he wasn't like a Knight, or in a posse or anythin'. He didn't have anything to protect but his profit, and that isn't good enough fer this crew."   
  
"Mr.. Captain Raijin, can I be a Knight when I grow up!?!"   
  
"Captain Raijin, does this mean that I don't have to take math anymore?"   
  
"Captain Raijin, can lights-out be later now that..."   
  
The crowd had formed into a large chorus of 'Captain Raijin's that Raijin figured he'd just wait out, so it took some wild gesturing on the part of an older - and loyal - student to capture his attention. The Captain had been half-daydreaming since he didn't have the hear to shoo the kids off.   
  
Nice day, cool boat, and some sweet, sweet silver Delling pike...   
  
"Captain! They're getting restless down in the senior dorms. What are your orders?"   
  
The kids went quiet.   
  
Face falling after the slim euphoria of actually doing something right for a change, Raijin pondered his options. Fujin did not like bad news, and she was probably in one of her scary moods what with Seifer gone. Yeesh. You'd think she'd have a little faith. If he showed up to see Fujin with bad news even if she wasn't in one of her scary moods then she would kick him. Raijin didn't like to get kicked. Sooo...   
  
"Ummm... go tell Commander Fujin, ya know? I'm busy," he said, smiling genially.   
  
"Yessir."   
  
Wow. Cool. He didn't actually have to go tell Fujin OR get his shin kicked. Maybe Seifer'd been right about this Galbadian thing after all. He was kinda bright that way, ya know.   
  


***

  
  
They weren't the two most stealthy people on earth, so getting around the Galbadian army wasn't gonna be too hard - especially with a comatose body suspended between them. Therefore, again with the sewers. Ew?   
  
Zell wasn't exactly sure what had happened to Instructor Trepe, but he did know one thing. They had to get to Caraway Manor. Why? Because Zell needed Squall to tell him what the hell he was supposed to be doing about this. Good ol' Squall... he always came up with a plan somehow.   
  
Not that he needed Leonhart to hold his hand or anything. Yeesh. Right now he woulda settled for a familiar landmark. Man, he should've been paying attention when Instructor Trepe led them over. This whole thing reeked in ways above and beyond the obvious.   
  
"Zellllll.... are we lost?" Selphie's trademark whine emerged from behind him.   
  
"No!" the martial artist yelped. As if he was going to tell Selphie that Quistis was the only one with a clue how to get back.   
  
His shoulders were aching by now; the girl behind him really wasn't suited to carrying heavy loads what with her being so short and all. And the pain wasn't the good kind of aching, either. Like, when he was using the punching bag that Ma gave him for his birthday, that was good pain. Pain like that built nuscles, and was garunteed not to kill you while it made you stronger. This pain though... his ligaments just hurt like hell. If he pulled something he'd be useless, and damned if he was going to get pulled out of the action at this point. Seemed like Caraway'd need all the help he could get, and Zell was spoiling for a fight.   
  
Grandpa would have told him to work out more.   
  
It seemed as though they had progressed back to the same waterwheel again. Well, if you could call that water. Putrid sludge was more like it. Pretty nasty, really. The smell had been okay before, but now that Instructor Trepe was injured it was so nasty that it wasn't even funny. Panic tends to clear the mind, at times. Saving Quistis' life and getting out of this mission alive was quite literally on Zell's shoulders, and that just wasn't cool. Not at all. In fact, it hella sucked.   
  
He had just wanted some action, for crying out loud! He knew that he wasn't the leader type - leave that to his buddy Squall - and this just wasn't what he was supposed to be doing. Zell was more than happy being Backup Muscle Guy. Plus, SeeD missions were supposed to be, like, exciting and adventurous and stuff. And he was supposed to get to practice all of the wicked-cool moves that he'd been learning. Nothing in the academy's lectures had mentioned anything about tromping around in a Hyneforsaken sewer with his comatose teacher. What if she died? Hyne...   
  
Dammit, this really really really sucked.   
  
"Zelllllll... aren't those the stairs?"   
  


*** 

Madmen were a fixture on the streets of Delling - as ordinary and unremarkable a tourist attraction as lamplight or asphalt roads. They came to the capital from all five corners of Galbadia in every conceivable size and shape and mental state to huddle on streetcorners, cry apocalypse, panhandle, and otherwise harass those good citizens who happened to be wealthy enough to pay them to go away. All in all, not a very impressive lot.  
  
Seifer Almasy was an exception - but then, Seifer had a knack for being exceptional at most anything he put his mind to. Enraged madness really would fit the bill after his Sorceress' death. Rage is the anesthetic of choice when your world falls apart. The former Knight's subconscious had learned that much from Fujin years ago.  
  
So what's one more madman preaching revolution from on top of an abandoned packing crate? When that madman's Seifer Almasy, a whole damn lot.   
  
Of course, it helped that his coat wasn't in tatters, and his abandoned packing crate was an imperial parade vehicle, and he was carrying a wicked-looking modified bayonet. But. Nevermind that. He was being inspirational here. Rising from the ashes, from the depths, just one more crazy on the streets of Delling... except this particular former Knight was going to drag himself up from scuzzy anonymity to save the world.  
  
Wasn't that a romantic dream?  
  
He'd had to come up with it on the fly, and the last one was still wreaking terrified horror and self-recrimination on Seifer's emotions, but for now it'd do.  
  
Former Knight? No fucking way. There was a new order to create, wasn't there? In her name - or, more accurately, in her memory. This was her New Reality, and as long as it was with him? She was too.  
  
What kind of a world was it where the fairytale couple didn't live Happily Ever After, anyways?   
  
Her blood spelled his warning. He'd failed - miscalculated - and she'd had to show him the error of his ways. Seifer could handle that. He'd been so very, VERY stupid, and Hyne if that didn't smart. Yet... this had been a lesson meant for him, hadn't it? Why else would a Sorceress choose to die is such a simple, senseless way?  
  
In her blood he was new baptized. He had his orders. He knew his mission. Everything that had come before was prelude and posturing. Seifer Almasy was a made-up name anyways. Not his. Not for him. Just whatever some flunky filling out a register conjured up on the moment's notice after he'd been presented with his fifteenth urchin of the day.  
  
In her blood he was new baptized, his name infused with meaning. She'd given him his meaning, and he swore that he'd never forget that. Her kingdom come, her will be done..  
  
"ENOUGH!" Turning from his mistress' body, Seifer raised his weapon and fired a troika of warning shots into the air.  
  
Those who stood loyal with their comrades (not his mistress - only HE could claim that honor) turned at the noise. Scarlet on their nightsticks, scarlet on the concrete, scarlet ran through the shrieking of their herd of lost and broken lambs. The soldiers themselves were far too worked up for this even to be considered a riot, their stark Galbadian uniforms often playing victim to humanity's crush rather than vice-versa. Seifer could see it all from his perch behind the protective bonds of a deathtrap. The float had been locked into the gateway, transforming Sorceress, Knight, and guards into little better fish in a goddamn barrel. he was lucky he still had his own life. That was clever. Garden-variety clever.  
  
Fuck.   
  
That had to be it. It had to be Squall - certain as the sea. Only Squall was worthy of the blood of a Sorceress. Only Squally and his whinging self-absorbed apathy, everything wrong with modern society crystallized into one deadly package, could even hope to challenge a Knight and desecrate his Lady. He should have noticed something before, but Seifer'd just had to be dicking around instead of eliminating the threat...  
  
The time for action had come, and he'd missed it, but maybe it wasn't gone quite yet.   
  
"You! Open that gate!"  
  
"Ummmm....." a guard posted by the winch paused.  
  
"NOW!"  
  
Seifer had a gun, and Seifer seemed to know what the hell was going on. That was more than the rest of them could admit to possessing. Morover, he had that way about him. His charisma made the lunatic seem possible.  
  
Seifer Almasy was a man on a mission, and his missions were your missions wether you liked it or not.  
  
"Get the fuck moving! What did I tell you? Open the gate and we'll break through the crowd to the palace! Why are you defending this useless piece of trash? You afraid some pansy civilians are going to hit you with their purses? For Hyne's sake..."  
  
Actually, the confused mob looked rather... vicious. Not that Seifer couldn't handle it.   
  
"N-no sir?" the guard who was listening to him hesitated with agreement. Wrong answer. The rest were just staring. Worst answer by far.   
  
"The Sorceress is dead. This is just the shell of her, it doesn't matter. And the president is gone as well, so you'd better listen the fuck up or we're all going to be crucified by Carroway and his cheap-assed mercenaries."  
  
"Who the hell is that guy?" one of them asked. Belligerent fool.   
  
"Are you questioning me!?"  
  
"That I am," one of the faceless minions, smirked. "You heard me the first time. Who the hell you think you are, prettyboy?"  
  
"He's right," called another. "Edea's dead. You got no hold on us, punk."  
  
Belligerant, idiotic fools.   
  
They should have known better than to antagonize a superior officer - especially when that superior officer was Seifer.   
  
"You get this straight, soldier," Seifer frowned with suppressed emotion, and the errant soldier yelped as his gloves caught on fire. It wouldn't break through the leather... yet. It was too easy to point his gunblade at his head. Time... to make an example, "because I'm only going to tell you once before I kill you: Edea isn't dead. Edea CAN'T die. That isn't how this works. Hyne is Edea is someone else out there because the Sorceress is more than one woman - she's beyond any stupid shell. The Sorceress is will and force and cunning and the LAW and - most importantly of all - the Sorceress is forever. Beyond you and me and all this shit. So me? I'm not betting on Carroway. He'll be out on a new coup in a year. And I'm sure as hell not betting on this rabble. They've got no frigging clue - they'd get themselves conquered in a week bitching about their petty problems in some stupid democratic assembly, and they'd be too busy not taxing themselves to pay you. Me? I'm placing my bets on something bigger and better. I think there's something greater in store for this country that those little men with their little political games. Something more than this cynical political assassination bullshit that took Edea's leadership from us, because fucking Carroway decided that as a General he just didn't have enough toys to play with. Look at what he's made your city - your people - into! Nothing but stampeding cattle."  
  
Outside the cage there was screaming. A window smashed. A baby was crying. With Edea's control over their higher functions gone there was nothing left but what pathetic beast bared fangs within - flee or fight.   
  
His audience was listening. His was the fire of intellect and purpose - not only the voice of reason, but the only voice at all.   
  
"So no, I'm not going to do the moral relativist bullshit thing and work 'only for me' because somehow being apathetic and selfish makes me jaded and experienced and worldly. That's fucking stupid. Nor am I going to run to Carroway with my tail between my legs. I was - I AM - her Knight, Seifer Almasy, and I've got a greater purpose than that. I'm betting on a revolution. I'll bet everything I have. My life, and all these others besides. Because she's out there somewhere, my Sorceress, and I'm going to FIND her. I'll find her and make this nation worthy of her name."  
  
His gun had left its deadly pose as he'd taken to impassioned hand gestures. The soldiers did not seem to mind.   
  
"So the question becomes - are you with them? Are you with him, hiding in his mansion instead of taking on Edea himself while SeeD brats do his dirty work, not even cleaning up his own goddamn mess like a man with some balls? Are you with the fucker that's abandoned you to this? Or are you with me?"  
  
The man's fire went out with a whimper, while the surrounding torches flared up. Seifer had always known he was melodramatic - in point of fact, he'd strived for it. Melodrama was the only way to really live.   
  
One more time, now.   
  
"Are you with me?"  
  
And they looked back out. And they looked back in. And they didn't look at the man beside them. And saluting broke out in the ranks.   
  
Seifer nodded, half-smiling.  
  
"Then let's get the hell out of here."The almost-ancient gates once more rattled into their accustomed resting place. Not the most graceful of calls to arms... but considering the circumstances it would have to do.  
  
Before he'd been doing this all wrong, and she'd had to show him that. Who had he thought he was, that the world would come to him on a platter that easily? The Knight? Maybe. Maybe he could call himself that, even if he wasn't yet. The Knight had to prove himself to make the name worth anything. He had to be worthy. There was something seriously wrong with this world, these... people, acting like animals, with no fucking clue about honor or loyalty or acting like a goddamn human being should. The best thing that'd ever happened to their sorry asses was dead, and all they could do was bleat like sheep.   
  
Slay the Dragon. Save the Sorceress. THEN live Happily Ever After.  
  
This joke of a society - it made people like fucking monsters.  
  
Ergo.  
  
Slay the Dragon. 

He could do that.  
  


***

"Irvine... we have to get out of here."   
  
The words reached the young man's ears and, instead of being processed as was their due, seemed to fade into thin air.   
  
"You were successful," his companion continued, "Our mission is concluded. We have to get out of here."   
  
He wasn't stupid. The message came out load and clear. Yet still, he sat immobile. Waiting. Maybe he was waiting for the red-clad soldiers wending their way through the mob to reach him and tear him all apart. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for his mother to get back up and say that this was all a game just like when he was little.   
  
Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he just wanted to die.   
  
He was a mercenary. He did know they'd die if they didn't leave... or at least he knew at some level.   
  
But then, what did he know?   
  
"I-it wasn't supposed to be this way," a muttering, scattered to the wind. Before he... before her... it had been a warm night, before.   
  
"What are talking about?" Squall said, and another cool breeze paid homage to the north wind. Squall did not understand or care, because Squall didn't want to.   
  
That was good. Irvine deserved that. He deserved... no he didn't. He couldn't have done that. He couldn't....   
  
"It wasn't... it was just a signal...just... just a..."   
  
And when the blood ran down her dress she was smiling.   
  
Smiling.   
  
Smiling.   
  
Why were they screaming?   
  
"Pull yourself together. We have to leave before Seifer gets here."   
  
"Do you remember her smile, Squall?" his voice cracked, broken.   
  
"Why are you..." Squall said, exasperated. Even the unflappably efficient Leonhart had his limits.   
  
"You don't remember," the sniper rasped. "YOU don't have to remember, do you?"   
  
"Squall... they're coming!"   
  
Practically dragging the shell-shocked assassin away from his perch, Squall nodded to his second charge.   
  
"Whatever. Let's go."   
  
***   
  
Rinoa followed bad news like a storm followed a calm. So she should have been there, because as bad news went, this was approaching awful.  
  
The President was dead, the Sorceress was dead, and the streets were in chaos. Hyne.   
  
The first thing that General Carroway had thought to see when he entered his office, fresh from a rather alarming message delivered by one of his soldiers, was his daughter. She was inconvenient that way. Probably demanding to be let out, or using that devastating look on him which he'd never really been able to figure out. Even her mother, the great and worldly Julia Heartilly, couldn't put one past his baby girl Rinoa's tried-and-true puppydog eyes.   
  
He'd have to stand firm, though. Great Hyne - those friends of hers. Mustn't forget to keep them away from it all as well if he could - he had a feeling that things would end badly. Especially if his daughter were involved. They were just from two different worlds, and his daughter didn't seem to understand what he was protecting her from. They came from a cruel place, and even if she managed to survive there once those orphans realized how little she needed to be there they'd get resentful, she'd be a burden for trained soldiers, and...   
  
Did she think he didn't know about her carrying on with that Almasy boy!? Honestly. He had nothing against SeeDs in general, but his girl didn't seem to realize that boys from the wrong side of the tracks came with more baggage than their 'cool' clothing and interesting scars. Rinoa didn't understand war. And if Robert Carroway had his way, she'd never have to.   
  
Only love can break your heart.   
  
As such, it would be an understatement to say that three teenage mercenaries covered in filth were a bit of a... shock. A worrisome shock.  
  
If they'd been gone at some point, Rinoa had probably followed them. She was like that.   
  
"What the..."   
  
He'd told her to stay home! What did she think she was doing!? Rinoa - an amateur at best - could have been killed by... and those SeeDs were completely irresponsible, going off without his orders!  
  
"General Carroway, sir," a boy, blondish and underwhelmingly attired, addressed him while plopping a human-shaped load on the divan. A very expensive divan. Which was now covered in slime and dung and the Guardian Forces knew what else.   
  
It was fortunate that General Carroway was of military stock in the grande olde tradition. It kept his emotions in line.   
  
"What's going on here? And where's my daughter," the pitbull bark of a man as used to giving orders as breathing made its entrance. This couldn't be happening again...   
  
"Answer me!" he had, of course, the requisite matching gaze of iron. Standard equipment, don't you know.   
  
Perhaps his disposition was not such a blessing after all.   
  
"We.... the Sorceress is dead, sir."   
  
"I know that! Now why isn't Rinoa with you!?!"   
  
He had no time for this.. why must the girl always run off at the most importune moments!? The government was falling! He didn't have time for this... childishness!   
  
"Please... Instructor Quistis here is in helluva bad shape. You've gotta help her. We don't know what happened. She's been out a real long time, and her eyes have gone all freaky, and she just collapsed and we didn't know what to do."   
  
"We thought that Rinoa was with you," the conscious girl added.   
  
Mentally cursing life, his daughter's flighty temperament, and humanity in general - the officer sharply turned away.   
  
"Well go and..."   
  
An anonymous underling, clad in the ubiquitous Galbadian red, moved to interrupt.   
  
"Sir! The Sorceress' guards are moving to shore up in Delling palace! Lieutenant Xen asks for your orders, sir."   
  
"Dammit..." the older man growled, holding back his more... ungentlemanly sentiments. "You! Call someone about the girl... and if Rinoa comes back send a messenger. I've got work to do."   
  
Once again, Rinoa Heartilly had abandoned her father. And once again, duty called far louder than any mewlings which might cross the chasm is his heart that was Julia Heartilly.   
  
Some days, he didn't blame either of them for not loving him   
  
***  
  
An hour and a half.   
  
He was supposed to have called her back.  
  
And hour and a half ago.   
  
If Raijin had gotten a message and not told her, she'd carve out his intestines with a rusty spoon.

"Commander Fujin? Ma'am?" a generic soldier poked his head about the entryway.   
  
"SEIFER, CALLED?" that was as anxious as Fujin was going to let herself get. Even asking the question was about two degrees beyond acceptable limits of humiliation, but... 

"Ummm.. no Ma'am," the messenger seemed to physically shrink.   
  
"DISTURB, WHY!?!" his commander snapped in return.   
  
"We seem to have a problem with..."   
  
"RAGE!" Something lacking in Siefer-related content was definitely on the 'not wanting to hear' list. Problem!? What, did they not like the food or something!? What were their stupid little problems compared to...   
  
That was it. Am hour and a half. Who knew what had happened to Seifer in all that time? Fujin had to do something.   
  
"GARDEN, FLY," she demanded.  
  
"I'm sorry Ma'am, but there seems to be a bit of a situation on the dorms. Some of the students..."   
  
"GARDEN, FLY!"   
  
"... are getting unruly Commander Fujin ma'am. I'm sorry Ma'am, but you might want to get down there. We're having trouble containing it. Some of them have set fire to.."   
  
She glared. He finished.   
  
Fuck.   
  
There were now two options to be considered. The first was, of course, to get her ass down to Delling and make sure that the third member of her posse wasn't the main course in some kind of magical sacrifice or whatever the hell Sorceresses did in their free time while they weren't fucking with her friends. The second would be not to disappoint him when he got back...   
  
Inaudibly sighing, Fujin grabbed the front of the unfortunate private's uniform.   
  
"TAKE," a hoarse growl emerged to to swipe at her inferior.   
  
"TAKE NOW."   
  
The students of Galbadia Garden were going to pay for this. Dearly.   
  
***   
  
There was something too organic about Delling Palace - all curves and veils and tendonlike arches. A beast of the ocean depths, perhaps, flowing blues and greys and translucence forming an ethereal sort of skeleton where perhaps a garden might have thrived. Too static for life, and too flowing for death.   
  
A clever deception by a clever man, that.  Well, at least he must have been clever at some point.  Now he wasn't even a meal for the flies, having been vaporized for all to see on national television.  A blemish on the life of a man who'd fought against the most advanced empire of the modern age and lived to tell about it. It must have made him cocky - dealing with a Sorceress was never too healthy for unworthy mortal men. Still, President Delling's palace was something special among the baubles of the tyrants of the day - a brilliant facade.  It was deceptively far removed for the inferno depths of Galbadia's subterranean political prison, and gated away from the writhing hordes who didn't need to know that Galbadia had a subterranean political prison.   
  
It didn't hurt that any dictator worth a damn armed his stronghold to the teeth.   
  
There was a spiral stairwell in the forum of the building, and it seemed to be the only escape from a suffocating crush of human bodies.  Humidity of breath and scent of battle took on a life of its own, an entity thriving on the tattered mass whose very presence contradicted their surroundings' gentility.   
  
It was odd, then, that only one man stood on that stairwell. A tattered sort of man - worn and bloodstained white - who could on his better days burn brighter than the sun.   
  
"Alright. I want company one to get their asses to the rooftop and man the rail guns - and for Hyne's sake flow that goddamn clock the fuck up. Second company is searching every goddamn corner of this place for our gunmen, and if you even think about killing them I will personally hand your ass to you. You find someone, you report to me. Third company - you're at the breach.  BARRICADE is the word, people. We're not getting through this alive or in control with just some pansy sniping, and if these people manage to seize the palace and start a revolution none of you are getting paid.  The rest of you get your asses to the walltop.  I want a sentry every ten meters.  Is that clear? "   
  
Silence reigned, but for the screams of rioters caught in magical insanity, breathing, and the rustling of clothes. Not too enthusiastic, but at least he'd pulled them all in here. Goddamn pansy morons couldn't even take direction...   
  
The crowd blinked. In unison. Quite the achievement, actually.   
  
"Look, does anyone else have the balls to get up here? I didn't think so. So get your pansy asses out there before that mob tears us apart!"   
  
And lo, order ensued.  Almost mystically, really. Of course there were the usual rumblings of discontent, but one did not make it into Edea's guard without knowing the ways of the wolf pack.  Subordinate creatures, the lot of them. Well, that and the tiny matter of not wanting to die.   
  
The smell of charred flesh wafted through the windows.  
  
None of them could afford to be too disgusted by that.   
  
"Do we have any tech people here?" the leader's voice, that of one Seifer Almasy, didn't sound like it should have that kind of power. It was too sedate for people to notice that little touch of madness that made him as eccentric as any great leader.   
  
Said voice halted a surprisingly large soldier in his tracks - brave soul.   
  
"Sir?" it took him a minute to fight through the crowd.   
  
"Congratulations, you're promoted.  Now get on the line with Carroway and ask him where the fuck his people are!  I'm out of here."   
  
The man nodded, more than a little cowed by the one turning away from him to climb the steps.   
  
"Sir? Where..." the refrain continued, this time a bit more unsteady.   
  
"Rooftop, " Seifer clipped his words.   
  
"And I shall address you to General Carroway as..." the man was either extremely competent, or extremely stupid. Given the rather disconcerting gleam in Seifer's eyes at the moment, most likely a bit of both.   
  
"Sir Seifer. Stop wasting my time," the Knight drawled.   
  
"But.. sir, the sorceress is dead..." apparently stupidity had won out as motivating factor.   
  
"Did I not just give you a direct order?" his commander breathed a question, narrowing cerulean eyes in impatience before continuing his ascent. Seifer didn't need to wait for the answer - there were important things to be done. Fucking pansy.  No wonder these people needed a man like him to fix things for them.   
  
"... no sir. Sorry, sir..."   
  
The foyer had emptied itself of infection, leaving but that one fragment stranded on perfect steps.  The veils on the walls, alas, ,has met their fate at the hand of overzealous soldiers. The acoustics of the empty chamber, however, served to carry one Knight's footsteps over the cacophony.   
  
***   
  
If Delling Palace might easily have been mistaken for a Garden, then Galbadia Garden should have been a fortress rather than a glorified dormitory.  A pity, really.  Fujin certainly wished that it was.  If it were a fortress it might be full of professionals rather than a bunch of heavily-armed case-studies in the effect of post-traumatic stress syndrome on adolescents. Never mind that two out of three misanthropes would have dubbed the albino the same. She, at least, wasn't so deluded as to think that the death of Martine would be a great time to attempt to hold some kind of teenaged-rebellion-turned-protest-turned-kegger.  Obviously, the students of Galbadia Garden doubted her ability to kick their asses. A tragic flaw on their part, really.   
  
Bah.  Students.  She could deal with students if they didn't respect her enough yet to act like soldiers even in their mutiny. Such a tragic mistake on their part.   
  
"RAGE!"   
  
Soldiers for example, would have taken an aggressive yet defensive position upon the entrance of a hostile force smaller than their own into home territory.  The could have organized some sort of blockade maybe, or if mercenary they could have performed a nasty little guerilla ambush.  It was the trademark of inferior forces everywhere, naturally, but at least it would involve a force.  At the very least they might have traveled in packs for safety, guarded their backs, or developed some kind of convoluted escape plan through ventilation ducts and/or easily locked passages.   
  
When Fujin and her group of higher-ranked student loyalists stormed through the hallways to the entrance of a now thoroughly-wrecked cafeteria, the general populace didn't bat an eye. It looked like a tornado had recently been interior decorating, rather than any sort of organized defense perimeter having been set up.   
  
If they couldn't take her out, then she deserved their respect, dammit.   
  
It appeared that the new Commander had a problem.  A very loud, somewhat drunken, and altogether disrespectful problem.  Apparently, being... "nice" to them hadn't worked. Telling them what was happening and asking them to have some fucking slef-discipline hadn't worked. Did they think she wasn't serious? Dare they assume that because she was only a year or two older than them (if that) they could take control away from her? The most annoying part of the whole situation was that she knew exactly how it felt - that burning desire to be in control of something.  It must be an orphan thing.   
  
Unacceptable, that depth of feeling.  That was best left to Seifer.   
  
Disciplinary Committee Tactic One: act to impress. The worst thing that can happen to a glorified hall monitor is to lose face.   
  
"RAAAAAAAAAAGE!"   
  
Thereby came the sad, swift, and sudden downfall of three kegs of beer liberated from the kitchens.  Poor things.  They couldn't have seen the triplet Thundaga's heading for them. Shards of hot metal hit a couple of students, who squealed in the background as a raging torrent of beer thundered to a temporary life.   
  
Now, apparently, she had the class' attention.   
  
"INSOLENCE!"   
  
Unfortunately, her intimidation tactics had a rather unanticipated effect.  Said effect being very little of one. The students seemed more confused than anything, and some of them appeared to be... laughing at her? Stifling giggles in the crowd?  These ill-trained, sheltered, pansy students dared to laugh at her!?! And what moron had decided to have a party in the middle of a freaking war zone?  And what the hell was this?   
  
Why, the frightening realization that she had no mouthpiece, of course.   
  
"Heya, look at the freak."   
  
"Whassamatter, 'Commander' - cat got your tongue?"   
  
"I heard she's retarded and can't speak and shit."   
  
"I heard her parents were brother and sister and that's why she's crazy looking and..."   
  
Even her own men were... laughing.   
  
Not that she hadn't dealt with this before. It'd always been like this, for her, until Seifer. Looking at her, laughing at her, judging her, measuring her into some small and twisted fragment of herself that she wasn't, except to everyone but her she was, so which was the more real of the two of those?   
  
The formerly confident soldier swallowed, and rediscovered the feeling of wanting to shrink in on herself. Seifer wasn't there. Neither was Raijin. Fujin was the center of attention and that was never a good thing. She was supposed to be invisible. It was metaphorically appropriate, no?   
  
And so, before a crowd of dozens of red-clad teenagers (and the hundreds more she'd had patched through on telescreen, so they could see her triumph over their fellows and know their place), Fujin Asher was faced with a decision.  It was the kind of decision that changes things, like the wings of a butterfly fluttering to create a storm ten thousand miles away.  Certainly it was a decision that belonged more in some kind of television special about personal growth to be shown after school hours.  It was something so apparent in it's alteration of reality that it blew the concept of chaos theory right out of the water. This wasn't the Sort of Thing Fujin Did. She didn't like all of those people _looking_ at her. She... she... she killed people, swiftly and silently, or she kicked them in the ass because they'd crossed Seifer or the rule books or whatever, but she didn't... it was just, he'd always _been _there. It wasn't her _job_.   
  
If she was going to make a decision like that, she'd always figured it would be a life-or-death (or life-or-Raijin, or life-or-Seifer) situation. Not something stupid and trivial like this. Except... maybe it was a life-or-death situation, after all. You don't have to have your heart ripped out or your brains blown away to stop living. 

But. 

Seifer needed her.   
  
So.   
  
Something had to be done.   
  
So.   
  
Her job was to be his enforcer.   
  
So.  
  
In order not to fail him, she'd have to... enforce.   
  
So.   
  
Fujin was afraid that they were going to have to SHUT UP.   
  
"Do you find this situation amusing?"   
  
Her voice was scratched and bleeding into a growl. It was angry and raw and neglected, kept under lock and key beneath the floorboards like all ugly things of which she knew. It was low and chilling. It wasn't quite human and it wasn't quite right, but it was, for once, just what she needed at the moment. The threat lurked within her words like a snake in the grass - sinewy and hypnotic.   
  
Seifer had rhetoric, but she didn't. Fujin only had fear. The fighter knew very well that there were worse things to have watching your back in a firefight.   
  
"This is my Garden. I am your commander, not your mother. And you will respect me," said, her tone dead. Seifer's way hadn't worked for her. She'd done the speech - had Raijin preach ideology. If that didn't work, Fujin would have to.   
  
'demona   
  
it's mine. give it to me   
  
The air was resigned to her bidding. It had been imprisoned for too long in whatever negative space her Pandemona shackled all the winds - their spirits broken. She would grasp the ephemeral and subjugate it to her will. Power like that only came easily to Sorceresses. It wasn't meant for the likes of her.   
  
A hundred misbehaving students and her ad-hoc disciplinary mob were slammed into the corrugated steel walls of the Galbadia Garden cafeteria, the break knocked out of them and stolen that it might converge and work her will. It lifted the oversized, sharpened shruiken ring she carred and set it to revolving around the room like a buzz-saw. Several students lost the tips of their tresses, or had the fronts of their uniforms slashed open. The former kegs, now charred, were sliced and diced into shards of their former selves.   
  
"I'm was from the Balamb elite, so I know the secrets of the Guardian Forces. And I've been policing the likes of you for years. You would be well advised to TAKE me seriously," they could hear her steadily over the whistle and the rush. Many of them couldn't breath, but that was none of her concern. A wall of rubble scraps was slowly being formed in the vortex to shield their reddened faces from her.   
  
"I am your Commander, not your Headmaster. I don't give detentions, and when I give an order I expect it to be carried out. I will have DISCIPLINE."   
  
Then, after catching her weapon, she let it all... drop.   
  
"I expect this to be clean in two hours."   
  
Then Fujin turned and left.   
  
"UNDERSTOOD?"   
  
She took the choking as a yes.   
  
Disciplinary Committee Tactic Two: if you want someone to not do something ever again, you have to give them a damn good reason not to. That reason should ideally be you.   
  


*** 

  
"Sir."   
  
An orderly, upon entering General Carroway's office, would be immediately struck with the implicit neatness of the place.  It wasn't quite sterile, really, but... very much starched. It was rather alot like Robert Carroway himself. Back strait, eyes forward, the military ideal - that was the rule of the day.  The Rule of Law.   
  
"I'm somewhat occupied here. Is it Rinoa?" the beaded man, obviously fatigued, propped his head up only by force of an iron will.  Carroway been working out troop movements for most of the night. There had to be a way to impose martial law temporarily without sending the people of the city into a panic - he just had to find it. Preferably without having to station a jeep full of ground troops on every major streetcorner.   
  
"No, sir.  We're recieved a communiqué from Delling Palace.  Seems that they've holed up under a... 'Sir Seifer Almasy', sir?  Apparently they're trying to subdue the civilians by force."   
  
"Almasy.. did you say Almasy?" the question in his voice was uncharacteristic.  Uncertaintly was as out of place on him as candle-light was in the study of one of the most modern buildings in Galbadia.   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
Again somewhat jarringly - given his usual unflappable manner - the general appeared mildly frustrated.  Not a good sign in a man who'd acquired most of his frown lines at war with the Estharian Empire.   
  
"One of Edea's lapdogs, " the general offered by way of explanation. "That's the last thing we need."   
  
"They're requesting support."   
  
".... Withhold.  And have our men withdraw to circle this compound. I want barricades on Moravia Street and Beecher Avenue."   
  
It was the general's job to be decisive, and decisive he was. He'd spoken the truth - the last thing they needed was for some upstart Sorceress' lackey to make a grab for power at a time like this.  Madman. If he wanted to start a civil war, Carroway would give it to him.   
  
Robert Carroway had given up too much for the army - nay, the nation - for anything else to be acceptable.  After all, Rinoa was out of his grasp.   
  
***   
  
Squall had said that they needed to run, so they ran.   
  
Irvine wasn't quite sure why, anymore. In the beginning Squall had practically had to drag him. He couldn't stop looking at...   
  
No.   
  
"Squall... I need to rest. My feet hurt."   
  
Irvine Kinneas heard the girl's soprano through a fog of silence. Not that it really was silent, but the pained screaming of the panicked mass below them had become something more then a little like white noise. Or maybe Irvine Kinneas was just on another frequency from the rest of the world altogether. This mad dash to safety didn't seem quite real. And neither did she, so his gaze did not map out imagined curves as it might once have with skill and an intense desperation.   
  
She couldn't break the silence. She was nothing - outside the forgetful little world they'd manufactured which Irvine could see but couldn't quite break into, with nothing to remember or forget. How had they done it? Why had they cast Matron away? Couldn't they see? The stars were staring down at him in silent secret judgement and they saw everywhere and everything.   
  
Where they were, where there were no memories, maybe there were no stars as well.   
  
_Won't they let me in? Won't you? I've been good, Matron. I promise.   
  
I've been good.   
  
It wasn't my fault.   
  
Not ever.   
_  
Focus.   
  
The girl was breathing heavily - obviously unsuited to combat.  She smiled at him.  Or more accurately, at Squall Leonhart.  No matter. Irvine's body ran on reflex.   
  
_She smiled.. why won't she stop smiling at me?   
  
Matron, please... don't you believe me? I can show you, if you like. _  
  
"I'll be alright, though! We're only a neighborhood away from home. Then we can get cleaned up and figure out a plan," the blue-clad girl chirped.  Her hair was black as night and she was smiling. Still smiling.  He could taste her smile. It stuck on his tongue like nicotine and ashes.   
  
The stars were cold, and watching. Constellations have no faces.   
  
Matron had no face now, either.   
  
_I can show you.   
  
That... I would never hurt you.   
  
Squall.   
  
Squall said that he would do it. Squall said.   
  
This was Squall's fault.   
  
So we'll still go to the beach, right? _  
  
"You alright, Irvine?" Rinoa interrupted, apparently undaunted by her ordeal or two hours of playing hide and seek along the rooftops of downtown Delling.   
  
"Stop that!" the sniper snapped.   
  
"Stop what?" the girl's brow creased in confusion.  Rinoa was one of the more naive souls to grace this particular rooftop.  And her voice...   
  
She was really being very nice to him.   
  
"You... it's.. just stop it! I don't want to hear it! You don't speak anymore" Irvine managed a growl, raising his rifle into an instinctive block. The air was closing in on him. She had to shut up so he could get his shit back together.   
  
But it wasn't anything he could just explain. Poison-tipped, armor-piercing bullets rarely are.   
  
Their fearless leader Squall was, as usual, oblivious. He'd been paying more attention to the possible motions of surrounding troops and the implications of a spreading housefire. They - they were secondary.  Just like Matron had been, apparently.   
  
Maybe it was Rinoa a bit, too. Maybe all that fire on her coal-black hair had him, everyone once in a while, distracted for that moment that'd kill him if he were in the field. The kind of moment most mercs take, if you've seen the ladies in their line of work. Rinoa certainly would have liked that, but one never really knew with a man like Squall.   
  
_Just like you... so it's okay if you're gone, if she's here? That's...   
  
He tricked me.   
  
It's not my fault. Not gonna think about it.   
_  
"Both of you - we have to keep moving..." Squall said apathetically, gesturing towards a ladder. He didn't seem to care if Rinoa was almost moved to tears. He was the kind of man that didn't see anything wrong with hurting men but not women. So there was no observable reaction when Irvine turned towards him, firearm raised.   
  
_None of them care.   
  
But I do. I promise.   
  
I'll show you. It's his fault. It's their fault. I was just a signal, just a sign.   
_  
"This is your fault!  Your responsibility!" Irvine hissed.   
  
"...What?" the response came like blood from a stone.  Apparently the impervious Mr.Leonhart could be made to react after all, even if it was pretty damn anticlimactic.   
  
"You said it. You said so yourself.  What I did was just a signal. Just a sign."   
  
Such inattentiveness was probably why he hadn't noticed something in the sniper before. Something... broken.  An air of wrongness that served as well as any sound psychiatric diagnosis and white asylum jumped to brand Irvine Kinneas Not Quite All There.   
  
Irvine was finding existance as a label to be a liberating feeling.   
  
_I'll prove it to her.   
  
I will. Then she'll stop, I know it. _  
  
Then she'll smile at him.   
  
"You were the one that killed her.  Why did you kill Matron?  She loved us. All of us. She was the only one who ever loved us - you know that. She gave us a place to live, and jobs, and lives. She saved my life. I owed her my life, and you took it," and suddenly, those lips so trained for sensuality were curled upwards in a cruel parody of a grin.  The world seemed limitless - endless without her there. Without her he could stare into that abyss of her dark dark hair and see the stars looking for his next failing, his next fall, the stain in his eyes and his heart and his soul that...   
  
Squall, of course, noticed none of that.   
  
"Irvine?" he said, slowly backing away. "You have to calm down. Think rationally. The Sorceress may have placed some sort of residual hex on you before she died. You don't want to do something irrational."   
  
"It's your fault.  And I'm going to prove it to her.  I'm going to make her stop - let her rest," he'd seduced dozens of women with that smile. Men too. But none of them were Her.  That smile was love and lust and longing all wrapped in a hunger that wasn't for her - not really - but for what she represented, which was love, and to be loved, and to belong somewhere for one sweaty stupid moment that transcended bedrooms and bathrooms and clubs and lifted him into place scorching beautiful with sun and sand and sky.   
  
Irvine had been trying to find the path. Really, he had. The others had forgotten that there ever was one. And to think: once, he'd thought they'd be waiting.   
  
But he knew now. Squall Leonhart. He was the first. Always monopolizing Matron's time. Always crying off into space, never their friend, like his problems were so much worse than theirs, like he had the right to submerge the path and burn the woods and cloud away the sun with all his fucking misery when he didn't even deserve Matron and...   
  
He did it!   
  
Lock.   
_  
You'll have to see what really happened. _  
  
"IRVINE! Snap out of this! You're not that green. Just keep it together until we get to Carroway's." Something wet hit is chest.   
  
"I threw a Panacea at him. Squall, it's not working, so hr can't be Confused. I don't understand, Squall. I'm scared, I..."   
  
"Get back, Rinoa."   
  
Load.   
  
He wasn't going to think about that.   
  
Fire.   
  
It was loud (the thunderclap, the gasp, her crying, and the squelch of a thud after the fall) and red. Redredred. Squall had stumbled to the edge of the building and fell over and then Irvine couldn't see him anymore. That was good. He didn't smile when he got shot though, unlike Matron.   
  
Squall had never been a happy person.   
_  
__They promised. __  
  
__You always said that I should make sure that people fulfill their promises, Matron. Liars are bad. _  
  
"Wh- what have you done, Irvine? Why... why would you.. he was..." a tear-stained, heart-shaped face attempted to intrude upon the sniper's vision.  Alas, it could not. "H-he never did anything really bad, he... I think I really..."   
  
_And I did it just like the men in school said that I was supposed to.   
  
Aren't I a good boy, Matron?   
  
__Maybe I shall go to the beach. __I liked the beach, out by the lighthouse.  I liked to make sand castles. The waves were big.  And you would play with me - you looked so pretty, Matron. And you'd smile at me. Then Sephie'd dump water on my head. She was so funny. _  
  
_But you wouldn't smile that smile.  The other. That smile's for him. _   
  
Yes.   
  
"I'm leaving now," Irvine stated, stepping up into a ledge twixt adjacent structures.  The NotThem NotMatron girl had fallen to her knees, sobbing into air whose humidity just might have a chance at matching the moisture of her tears. "I'll see you later, if you feel like coming. She'd like to meet you, I bet."   
  
Because I didn't do it.   
  
I didn't.   
  
And I'm not going to think about it.   
  


*** 

She was still crying when he came to find her.   
  
Or maybe someone else had found her and he was just coming, because they didn't really know what to do with General Robert Carroway's weeping daughter on the rooftop of a sub-building of the Delling Palace. She didn't know. She wouldn't have noticed.   
  
Rinoa knew that she was not a soldier.   
  
She'd tried to be - she'd really wanted to be, if only because her father wouldn't let her and she just knew that if someone did it right then they wouldn't have to end up like Daddy at all. All cold, and alone, and distant... if you fought for something you believed in and you made a difference you got to be a soldier and a human being too, right? She could have done that.   
  
Before now, she'd thought maybe she could have been a soldier. Back then, though, she hadn't really known what soldiers did.   
  
So she was crying.   
  
Because maybe she could have made him better. Her poor Black Knight. Fighting... she wasn't strong enough to do that much, but maybe if she could have saved someone as powerful and vulnerable as Squall she could have made a real difference after all. He was so hurt, so haunted, and none of them ever saw it, just like they never saw it in themselves. Because they were soldiers, and they thought it was normal, but it wasn't. And how many people like her suffere because of that?   
  
None of them had to be the way they were. None of them had to be soldiers.   
  
Maybe there was no right way to be a soldier. Maybe you just went cold and hard and merciless or you... snapped.   
  
Rinoa Heartilly didn't think that she wanted to be a soldier much anymore. That dream was breaking right alongside her heart. Snap, snap. So she settled on the concrete and she scratched her knees up and she felt the pain and she fogged her eyes until she forgot all about where she was except for the fact that she wasn't with him.   
  
She'd never be with him again. Just like with Mum.   
  
And the thing that made her saddest - made her crumble and come undone - wasn't so much that he was no longer alive, but that he'd never really lived, and she could have helpd him. For once, the spoiled little rich girl could have done some good.   
  
Couldn't they see that under all that pain there had been a good person, who didn't quite understand what was happening to him, so he decided to let nothing happen at all? It hadn't been just his looks, or the bad-boy attitude. Rinoa had done that before with Seifer, and it hadn't worked out. Squall had been gorgeous because he was damaged - like a baby bird with broken wings, his pathos brought out things in Rinoa she'd always sort of suspected she was a little too shallow to feel. None of the rest of them saw it, but she had. The way he'd look a little lost when they all talked about their friends. They way he looked like he wanted to smile but didn't quite know how. Compassion had demanded that she fall in love with him. It was easy to see how he could be so strong and dauntless and perfect, if he wasn't so frozen and ruined and tragic.   
  
Rinoa thrived on love, knew what it was like not to get it from someone you thought ought to grant it to you, knew just how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking that it didn't exist or, if it did, it was for beings lower than you who didn't understand the secret to a painless life.   
  
And now he was gone. He had been supposed to protect her, but he couldn't, and he'd gone before she could protect him. So perhaps they'd both failed. He'd never have love, and he'd never be more than a shell of what he could have been. And she'd never be his savior, so she'd never see that love returned, and what else worthwhile could a girl as sheltered and untrained as her do with her life?   
  
When he came to find her she was still crying, and she didn't notice that he was there   
  
"Rinoa?" he knelt to grasp her hands away from where they covered her face. "Rinoa, are you alright? What happened here?" When she could see again it came as a low, dull shock to her system that it wasn't her Black Knight but her White. Right. The Black Knight lay bleeding three stories below.   
  
She didn't want to look again.   
  
"How did you get up here, Rinoa? Did you see anyone? Did you see what happened to... Edea?" he drew her into a loose, gentle hug, and she wondered where the Seifer she'd known had gone. "I know you must be frightened, but I can protect you. You're safe now. You just have to tell me."   
  
Her White Knight had come for her. And before she knew it she was crying on his shoulder.   
  
She didn't want to see, anymore, and he was warm and soothing. She'd wanted to prove that boyfriends and fathers and SeeDs weren't the only ones who could dothe fighting but... fat lot of good she'd been when the guy she'd maybe been in love with's life was on the line. Things like this weren't supposed to happen - not to her. They'd called her a Princess.   
  
"Th-they came to kill her and I followed them and the gun fired and Squall is gone and I don't know what to do I can't go home I want to go home I.. it's my fault. I wasn't strong enough. He was supposed to protect me, and he warned me, but I wasn't strong enough to love him more and tell him so, so now it's all gone and he'll always be sad and I don't know what to do, Seifer. I don't know what to do."   
  
"Shhhh. It's all going to be alright," his voice trembled. Wasn't so steady as usual. Now it was certain that it was still her old Seifer, though, because all that pent-up passion was still there, and it wasn't really for her. Squall was supposed to have been the one for her. "You don't have to worry. I know it's hard, but I'm going to take care of things. I'll fix it."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Really."   
  
"You can't d-do that. No one can."   
  
"Watch me."   
  
***   
  
In the depths of Sir Seifer Alamsy's mind, a plan was forming. It wasn't, of course, THE Plan - the overarching story of his life that was waiting to be written. This was just a commonplace little gambit to fill in the interim. One that he had to admit was lacking a bit in class, and not to his usual tastes at all. Rinoa... poor Rinoa. Whatever she'd seen, it had reduced the delicate civilian to incoherent babbling. Seifer could understand that. She was innocent. Naive. Untouched by this world.   
  
He liked that, in a person. So he liked her. He'd always liked her, until she'd decided that she didn't need his or her father's protection and had run off to Hyne-knew-where in Dollet to try and change the world in the most ludicrous way possible. Honestly, he sympathized with the sentiment, but Rinoa or Carroway interfering in things could only lead to misguided ruin or the muddled and useless sort of government the General's generation seemed to prefer. If anything, the evening's fiascos with Rinoa and his (exposed, on an open platform, easily-targeted because she wanted a good setting for her triumphant parade) Lady had taught him a very valuable lesson: sometimes, people need to have things decided for them.   
  
It was ignoble to use her like this. But really, there was nothing else to do. There was an order of priorities here, and if he could, he'd take the stain on himself just to keep everything else... unsullied.   
  
That was the real purpose of a Knight.   
  
"Sir, General Carroway has refused all requests to establish a coordinated effort," a former member of the Presidential Guard addressed him from the foot of Edea's Throne. He'd have to keep it warm for her. Edea had been a wise woman, with her fireworks and her grand glamourous exhibitions - it really was all about image. He had vowed to learn from her example, to live as the righteous extension of her memory. " His aide confirmed that the Sorceress is indeed dead, and her successor is being held under guard at Carroway Manor until our people have the city calm down. Apparently she needs medical attention. He asks that we dispatch units to the north and eastern sectors of the city and proclaim temporary martial law until elections can be held for a new President, while his forces will move to stabilize the western and southern blocs. If I may say, sir, it sounds as if..."   
  
"Fuck that."   
  
"S-sir?"   
  
"You heard me. Fuck that," Seifer growled. "Who the hell does Carroway think he is, ordering me around!? Obviously he has his jurisdictions confused here - not that I didn't see it coming, presumptuous old men are all the same. As Imperial Knight, the Sorceress is mine to care for. Not his. Our General Carroway appears to think that he can play me for a fool and carry off a goddamn coup."   
  
Sir Almasy held the bridge of his nose before sighing, taking a deep breath, and bemoaning the fact that he was surrounded by peons with no vision and fewer brains. He needed someone sensible around. Like Fujin. Hyne, he'd have preferred dealing with Raijin over these fools. "Tell that bitch Carroway's people that I want their Sorceress, and that I expect the whole of the armed forces to be placed under my jurisdiction by sunrise."   
  
"Sir?" The aide looked started. Idiot! Those completely lacking a clue shouldn't question those who make them.   
  
"Tell them..." Seifer strightened himself, confident, "that I have his daughter."   
  
***   
  
That night, Fujin Asher took control. It didn't quite feel right, but it didn't really feel wrong either. She didn't once more think of Seifer Alamsy that evening... except for when she did.   
  
That night, Seifer Almasy decided that something needed fixing.  That a dream was not only worth his own death, but those of a thousand others and all the armies of Galbadia besides. That a Knight - and only a Knight - could make things right. Some people were going to be less than cooperative about things, but he was used to that.   
  
That night, Quistis Trepe lay in a coma awaiting medical care. Raijin Kasim told two hundred scared young children a story about the children of a boy and a girl whose mother was a thunderstorm. Zell Dincht helped to build barricades, Selphie Tilmitt took a nice hot shower, and Rinoa Heartilly-Carroway cried herself to slumber in a locked stateroom.   
  
That night, General Robert Carroway didn't sleep a wink.   
  
That night, Irvine Kinneas lost his way. Where had the path gone?   
  
That night, Edea Kramer's body was burned to ashes.   
  
That night Squall Leonhart 's lifeblood mingled with the rainwater, his broken tangled into gutter trash as his soul slid into the ebb and flow of nothingness.   
  
But when the sun rose, he blinked.   
  
************************  


  
Author's note: Yeah, I know, I know... things are still bearing quite a bit of resemblance to the original Broken Mirror. I do hope that anyone who has read this before shall bear with me? Things don't really branch out plotwise to a significant extent until after the Defenestration of Fujin next chapter. That's not to say, however, that I'm not already planting certain tidbits to be dredged up later in the New, More Fully Realized Plotline of BM2.0.  
  
I'm also hoping that Seifer's coming off as much less psychotic in this version. I'd always thought that one of the tragedies of the original game was that Seifer was (for all intents and purposes) a much more proactive, socially aware, moral sort of person than the rest of the Balamb kids. His problem was more that he was an ends-justify-the-means kind of guy, and that doesn't usually turn out well even if your ends are well-intentioned. Also, he's something of an obsessive bastard. But enough about that. 

The title refers to Squall, Stalinist propaganda, and an obscure Canadian television series I was addicted to in the fifth grade (which was... ten years ago. Yikes! I find the extent to which I retain irrelevant details about fictional works alarming). Yes, I'm aware that Squall didn't actually directly wreck anything, although everyone else is mucking things up left and right. That's kind of the point. Gold Star if you know what I mean :)


End file.
